But the couple who occupied the central foreground of our match-maker’s thoughts were her niece, Mabel Aylott, and her own departed husband’s namesake, Frederic Chilton.  She dilated to herself and to Mabel with especial gusto upon the “wonderful leading,” the inward whisper that had prompted her to propose a trip to the Rockbridge Alum Springs early in July.  Neither she nor Mabel was ailing in the slightest degree, but she imagined they would be the brighter for a glimpse of the mountains and the livelier scenes of that pleasant Spa—­and whom should they meet there but the son of “dear Frederic’s” old friend, Mr. Chilton, and of course they saw a great deal of him—­and the rest followed as Providence meant it should.

“The rest” expressed laconically the essence of numberless walks by moonlight and starlight; innumerable dances in the great ball-room, and the sweeter, more interesting confabulations that made the young people better acquainted in four weeks than would six years of conventional calls and small-talk.  They stayed the month out, although “Aunt Rachel” had, upon their arrival, named a fortnight as the extreme limit of their sojourn.  Frederic Chilton was their escort to Eastern Virginia, and remained a week at Ridgeley—­perhaps to recover from the fatigue of the journey.  So soon as he returned to Philadelphia, in which place he had lately opened a law-office, he wrote to Mabel, declaring his affection for her, and suing for reciprocation.  She granted him a gracious reply, and sanctioned by fond, sympathetic Aunt Rachel, in the absence of Mabel’s brother and guardian, the correspondence was kept up briskly until Frederic’s second visit in September.  Ungenerous gossips, envious of her talents and influence, had occasionally sneered at Mrs. Sutton’s appropriation of the credit of other alliances—­but this one was her handiwork beyond dispute—­hers and Providence’s.  She never forgot the partnership.  She had carried her head more erect, and there was a brighter sparkle in her blue orbs since the evening Mabel had come blushingly to her room, Fred’s proposal in her hand—­to ask counsel and congratulations.  Everybody saw through the discreet veil with which she flattered herself she concealed her exultation when others than the affianced twain were by—­and while nobody was so unkind as to expose the thinness of the pretence, she was given to understand in many and gratifying ways that her masterpiece was considered, in the Aylett circle, a suitable crown to the achievements that had preceded it.  Mabel was popular and beloved, and her betrothed, in appearance and manner, in breeding and intelligence, justified Mrs. Sutton’s pride in her niece’s choice.

The old lady colored up, with the quick, vivid rose-tint of sudden and real pleasure that rarely outlives early girlhood, when the first respondent to the breakfast-bell proved to be her Frederic’s god-son.

“You are always punctual!  I wish you would teach the good habit to some other people,” she said, after answering his cordial “good-morning.”